


Preparation

by idharao



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Astaire/Rogers RPF, Dancers - Fandom, Musicals - Fandom, Old Hollywood
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 17:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idharao/pseuds/idharao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RKO Studios, Hollywood, 1938. This familiarity, this intimacy, is what makes their dancing effective. Fred and Ginger prepare to film a dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparation

The day they are scheduled to film the dance he comes to her in her dressing room and talks to her in a low voice, telling her all the things he's going to be thinking about while they dance. He talks until she is staring at his mouth, he talks to her until she is against the wall and not even listening to what he's saying anymore. He seduces her deliberately, thoroughly, and deliciously. "I'm going to ruin you," he says, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't stand up anymore, and then I'm going to fuck you some more."  
  
She _loves_ that he talks to her like this, that he tells her what he wants to do to her without any reservations. "I want to lick you," he says. "And I'm going to do it until you come over and over. And then I'm going to come inside you and you're going to dance for me just like that."  
  
This makes her say, "Jesus fucking Christ," in the most smoky, incredible voice, and it makes him laugh.  
  
"I'm serious," he says. "I want you on camera like that. I want you to know, every time you look at the dance, you have me inside you."  
  
Her eyes flash up to his, huge blue eyes that he has always loved to look at. "Oh, my god," she murmurs. This is the kind of thing she loves to hear, though she'd never say it in polite company. The fact that Fred knows, and likes, this thing about her, is hugely gratifying, especially since he loves to indulge her. He watches her smile grow.  
  
He grins. "And," he adds, "I want you to remember how deep inside you I was when I came, and how good it felt, and how you opened your legs for me."

She should be used to this by now. After five years this should affect her less. But she is still as thrilled and as turned on as she ever was in the very beginning. Eight movies in five years have fast-forwarded them to an intimacy flavored with real sexual attraction and real good humor.  
  
He puts her on her back on the twin sized bed in her dressing room, hooks his fingers in the waistband of her trousers, and pulls them down and off her. She grins up at him from between her knees. All she has on is a shirt and socks now. He undoes his own button and zipper, lets his trousers fall down, kicks them off, and settles himself between her thighs. He pushes up her t-shirt on one side to get his mouth on her nipple. She can feel that he's hard as a rock and that's another thing; after five years he still reacts to her this way. It's a lovely mystery to her why, but she is very happy it's so.  
  
And because this is not the first time, he reaches down easily and pushes his hips up and forward, and she groans and puts her hands over her face. When she opens her eyes again he smiles at her and starts to move with those deep, steady strokes she's become so familiar with.  
  
This familiarity, this intimacy is what makes their dancing effective. There is a secret to their success, and this is it. "Oh, yeah," she says, and one arm goes around his shoulders, the other hand covering her eyes for a moment.  
  
And this is where she loves to be, this close to him with her knees on either side of his hips. It's dancing magnified a thousand times, the synchronicity and the communication and the movements all flavored with pleasure. As easily as he moves her on the dance floor, he moves her now. He turns her, gets her on all fours, and tugs at her hair a little. She laughs and moans when he pushes back inside her and another gentle pull on her hair gets her upright on her knees right against him. He talks to her still, words of endearment and affection and sex, and slips a hand between her legs to work at the sensitive bundle of nerves. He holds her with his other arm, his hand playing at her breasts underneath the t-shirt she hasn't bothered to remove. Like the dancing, it is a full body experience.  
  
He pushes his forehead against her temple and listens to her moaning and breathing. This he loves, this is what is in his head every time they dance, on camera and off. This is what he loves so much about her; that she could be this way with him and then go and put on her dress and dance for hours without tiring and submit to the curling iron and the stylists and smile at him like she wouldn't be anywhere else in the world for anything.  
  
He feels her whole body wind up tighter and tighter, like a spring. He could die happy like this, he thinks briefly, before he feels her shudder and push her hips into his. She gives a cry of pleasure that turns into a long moan he can feel from her core.

That does it, that sound. He comes with her, stars exploding behind his closed eyes. He holds her tightly so that he can stay with her, stay inside her. He squeezes his eyes shut and holds on and lets her move the way she wants to, until he can't take it anymore.  
  
When he lets go of her hips, she twists away and lies on her back, giving him a heavy-lidded smile of satisfaction. Like a cat who has just had a full meal, he thinks. He stares at her for a minute just to take her in. She looks so good like this, half-naked and all his.  
  
A minute later he regains himself enough to reach for his pants, which are on the corner of the bed. He stands up, puts first one leg and then the other through, and watches her lying there watching him. "This is what I'm going to have in my head now," he says. "You looking just like this."  
  
She smiles that radiant smile of hers and looks at the clock on her vanity table. "I've got to go get into my dress now, Freddie," she says. "They'll be waiting for me in wardrobe." She stretches with her whole body, another magnificent sight, and gets to her feet. He retrieves her trousers and hands them to her, watching her as she puts them on, fastens them, and smiles at him, looking perfectly normal. She pins up her hair without even looking in the mirror, puts on her shoes, and opens the door for him. She sees him glance one way and then the other down the hall and then he slips out, giving her an affectionate look back before he disappears towards his own dressing room. She shuts the door and takes a few moments to breathe and to come down off her excitement. She wonders if she smells like sex, if anyone will notice. The mirror shows her looking like her usual self. Nothing is different, and yet she gets like this sometimes; affected and convinced that people can see the change in her.  
  
She goes to wardrobe and lets them push and pull and sew and tuck at her dress, cover it with a plain white robe, and send her to hair and makeup. She goes in and sits in her usual chair while they comb her hair and set it in a smooth curled pageboy and pin her pretty snood over it. She thinks about his hands while the makeup artist brushes pink lipstick onto her mouth. She rehearses the dance in her head again, the smooth, hypnotic movements, the bends and lifts. Then she walks out into the bright lights of the set and they face each other again for another moment out of time, to dance.


End file.
